


Mirror Mask

by Fire_Bear



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Horror, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred and his family moves into an old colonial house in Virginia where a boy died in the very room Alfred is to use. The neighbours believe it to be haunted but Alfred is determined not to let talk of ghosts upset him - until he starts to see things in the mirror in the en suite bathroom...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: suicide is kind of mentioned. It's not really dealt with in depth and, really, the person talking about it is a little bit nonchalant about it. I'm not trying to belittle it but it'll make sense once you read it. I thought I should still warn you about it, though.
> 
> EDIT: Hey, if you want to read this in Russian, GMoriell on ff.net translated it and here's the link. If this works. http://ficbook.net/readfic/3064924

As the car passed through the suburbs of this strange town, Alfred stared out the window watching the houses and trees and perfect lawns flashing past. A few people turned to watch their passage. Was their arrival that unusual? It must be pretty dull here.

He hadn't wanted to move. But his dad's company was downsizing and had shut down the offices in California where he had worked. They had had to move from the west coast where all Alfred's friends were and where he could go surfing to the dull and dreary east coast. Sure they had New York City up north somewhere and D.C., but they were nowhere near them. Instead, they had found themselves somewhere in Virginia, a small place just outside of Richmond.

Now he would have to suffer through being the new kid at school with no friends. And his old friends would probably be bored of his whining by now. He had watched their expressions glaze over when he had been telling them about it every day for a week before he had disappeared. That whining, though, had been a platform for them to assure him they would continue to be friends. No-one had and they were most likely glad he was gone.

They pulled up outside of an old, weathered house that seemed to need a lick of paint; the ugly white already there had peeled at the edges. It appeared to be one of the old houses they had had since colonial times. Possibly. Alfred didn't know everything and wasn't interested in the history at the moment, too focussed on his brooding. The lawn had overgrown and the flowers in the front yard were obscured by the long grass. Dark windows stared down at them.

His parents pointed out a window, telling him that would be his room. Alfred grunted in response and gazed up at it. The curtains were drawn, the only room to have them be so.

As his mom and dad unloaded the car, bickering a little and chuckling at their own antics, Alfred saw movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced around. A little old woman holding a pair of gardening shears was watching them. When she saw Alfred looking, she glanced at the house and beckoned to him. The boy glanced at the door, too, before sidling up to her.

"Are you really moving in there, son?"

"Yeah," he replied. Then, because his parents adored manners he added, "Ma'am."

"You should tell your parents to get another house."

"Why?" asked Alfred, intrigued now.

"That place is _haunted_!"

Alfred's eyes widened and he gasped. Meanwhile, the woman glanced over his shoulder before scurrying away, hurrying into her own house and slamming the door. A hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder and he jumped as he spun around. It was his dad, thankfully, and he took in a shaky gasp. Oddly, his dad was frowning.

"Don't listen to them, Al," the man said, sternly. "It's just a superstition. Remember what we said."

"There's not such thing as ghosts," murmured Alfred, though he still felt uneasy.

"There's my young man," His dad grinned at him before holding out his suitcases. "Now, let's get in and unpacked."

Alfred could only nod and follow. As he did, he glanced up at his room and almost dropped his bags in shock.

The curtains were open.

* * *

After they had partially unpacked – just enough to be able to eat and go to bed – Alfred decided to go for a shower. The past few days had been spent on the road and he felt disgusting. Luckily for Alfred, despite the house being old, some renovations had been done and his room had a small en suite bathroom, complete with a shower. It meant he had no excuse when his mom ordered him upstairs for a shower but it also, thankfully, meant he would never have to walk in on his parents being in the shower. Together. Without locking the door.

That had been a traumatising experience and he was still hoping for therapy.

When he climbed out of the shower, the room was wreathed in steam. The mirror was covered in a layer of condensation and Alfred, still dripping, drew a happy face on it. He grinned at it and rubbed himself over with the towel before using the it to wipe away the rest of the water stuck to the glass surface.

Once it was mostly clear, the reflection still a little warped, he stuck his tongue out at his features. Bright blue eyes, damp blonde hair with that cowlick which happened to be his trademark, tanned skin, that blurry shadow standing just behind him-

With a shriek, Alfred twirled 'round, sending water everywhere. No-one was there. Wide-eyed he returned his attention to the mirror. His fearful face stared back. There was no shadow.

* * *

Although Alfred had stayed awake for at least a few hours, frantically telling himself that he had just been seeing things because of the old woman while he had not been wearing his glasses, he woke quite early. Oddly enough, he felt well-rested so he clambered from his bed and stretched. In the daylight, he scoffed at his imagination and began to get ready for the day.

After he had dressed, had breakfast, brushed his teeth and washed his face, Alfred turned his attention to setting up his game systems. It was as he was fiddling with the cables behind the large TV that his mother found him.

"There you are, Alfie!" she cried almost making Alfred bang his head on the wall as he jerked in surprise.

"Mom! I thought you'd agreed to _knock_!" he replied, frowning as he sat back on his heels.

"The door's open already, silly. Now, come on."

"Come on what?"

His mother sighed in exasperation. "You promised to help in the front and back yards. Now get your butt out there."

"But mom-!" Alfred began to whine but the woman cut him off.

"No 'but' about it. Go."

Alfred couldn't argue with that so he soon found himself hacking at the long grass, readying it for a lawnmower. The newcomers soon attracted attention and Alfred could feel people staring at him. It was rather unsettling, especially when he glanced up and caught them whispering behind their hands and giving them pitying looks.

As the afternoon wore on, children and teenagers alike began to overcome their misgivings and approached him. Alfred cheerfully greeted them and they politely replied before scurrying off to their parents and safety. It was rather unnerving and a little upsetting but Alfred soldiered on.

When he reached the edge of their plot of land, some boys his age appeared. "Yo," one of them said. "You do realise you're in a haunted house, right?"

"Yeah," said Alfred with a nod and a grimace. "The old lady next door told me. Dad says it's just a superstition."

"It is not!" protested another boy. Alfred had seen him emerge from the house across the road and up close he looked fearful and angry. "That room!" he cried, pointing at Alfred's window. "The curtains keep moving."

"It's probably just people playing pranks," Alfred assured them and himself.

"No!" the boy said, his expression dark. "It's, like, I glance across and they're shut and then I blink and they're open and there's totally a ghost!"

"Just a trick of the light?" Alfred suggested.

"Maybe," said the first boy. "Doesn't change the fact that the last boy who lived there committed suicide in that very room."

"Er..." said Alfred, now uncertain.

"Al!" he heard his mother cry behind him and he jumped at the sudden loud noise. "Quit stalling and get back to work!"

"Oh. Okay. Sorry guys," he told the boys. "Talk later?"

"Yeah," snorted a third boy. " _If_ you survive."

* * *

Later that night, there was a knock on Alfred's bedroom door. "Come in!" he called, reaching for the remote to turn the volume down on the movie he was watching. His mother came in and glanced at the TV.

"Just came in to tell you that we're going to bed."

"Okay."

"Turn that off after that's finished."

Alfred pulled a face but agreed. His mother left him and he made himself more comfortable on his bed.

When the credits rolled, Alfred hit the power button on the remote and the TV flicked to black. He stood, stretched and began to get ready for bed. In his pyjamas, he trudged into the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. Rubbing at his bleary eyes as he bit onto his toothbrush, he glanced into the mirror.

The indistinct form of a person was standing behind him. He was the same height as Alfred or slightly shorter though Alfred was slouched over so he couldn't tell exactly. His hair was blonde but darker, a sandy sort of colour. Or perhaps straw. He couldn't make out any other features even as he stared in shock and horror.

A soft tinkling noise sounded as his toothbrush fell from his gaping mouth, jolting him from his gaze. With a cry, he spun around. There was no-one there.

* * *

He had not been able to get to sleep that night for several hours, tossing and turning. It was just a trick of the light, he told himself. You were tired and you couldn't see straight, he added. The towels were probably making weird shapes where they hung.

At one point, he dozed off, though he was woken by a creaking noise. Turning over in confusion, he blinked up at the bathroom door and watched as it slowly opened. He froze and held his breath. What would appear in the doorway?

But nothing came bar the words whispered as though on a faint breeze. _Help me_.

Then the door slammed shut and Alfred was left with a thundering heart and tears in his eyes.

* * *

In the morning, Alfred was exhausted. He had managed to doze off just as the sky was lighting up outside his window. Still rather frightened, he got up and went to the bathroom – he really needed to pee and had been holding it in overnight. Thankfully, he hadn't wet the bed but now...

Without looking at the mirror, he scampered past to the toilet bowl. He couldn't avoid it while he was washing his hands, though, as it was attached to the cabinet above the sink. When he chanced to glance at it, nothing was there.

He laughed at himself. Of course there was nothing there! Ghosts weren't real: his dad said so and he trusted his old man. Besides, he had probably fallen asleep and it had all been a dream because of what the boys had said. After all, the figure could have been a girl. He had just _assumed_ it was a boy. So it must have been his imagination.

This reasoning did nothing to ease his growing sense of dread.

* * *

For the next few days, Alfred would use the family bathroom whenever he could. And, whenever he couldn't, he found himself staring anywhere but in the mirror.

Otherwise, his life went on as normal. He played video games with his Internet friend Tony (who had, on several occasions, claimed to be an alien). His mother made him help around the house with decorating and in the back yard, sculpting it into the perfect garden. He talked to the kids in his neighbourhood – including a few girls who seemed to find his slight accent and surfing talk somewhat exotic. Exploring the town was on the cards and he found it wasn't so bad; yet, he missed the sea and being able to walk to it easily enough.

Then Alfred made the mistake of washing his face one night after a barbecue. He had gotten sauce all over his face from eating and his mother had insisted he go wash up. As he dropped down his arms after drying his face, he was alarmed to see a figure behind him again. This time it was clearer and Alfred could make out striking green eyes. They almost glowed as they surveyed him, the boy's face shocked. Above those bright orbs were a pair of thick, dark eyebrows. Alfred would have laughed had he not been so terrified.

Neither of them moved for a moment. Then, slowly, the boy raised his arm to reach out for him, his mouth moving. Before he could touch him, Alfred cried out, tears at the corners of his eyes as he launched himself for the door.

As he ran through the house, the whispers reached him. _I need your help._

* * *

Avoiding his bathroom was difficult, especially when he was sure his parents wouldn't believe him. This led to short tempers within the house as they argued over which bathroom Alfred should be using. The atmosphere was stifling; in Alfred's room it was decidedly chilly.

Eventually, Alfred was forced to use his own bathroom again and found himself looking into the mirror one night. The boy was there again, his form more definite. Green eyes locked with blue and Alfred couldn't breathe. Then the boy reached for him again.

As Alfred was frozen, he noticed the way the boy's eyes flickered, emotions spiralling through him. Sadness and fear, anger and hopelessness. It gave Alfred pause and, hesitantly, he decided to speak, to try to communicate with whoever he was.

"Wh-Who are you?"

The boy seemed to brighten and his mouth moved. But no sound came out and Alfred shook his head. Frowning, the boy tried again. Alfred shrugged.

"Can you write?" he asked. Rolling his eyes in obvious exasperation, the boy nodded. "All right, all right. Geez. It was only a question. Can't you write on the mirror, like in those movies?" Again, the boy rolled his eyes. "Well, you're a ghost... Hey, if I steam it up, will you be able to?" The boy shrugged so Alfred leaned closer and breathed on the surface.

When he leaned back, he couldn't see the boy. He waited and waited for writing to appear but, eventually, the mirror cleared and he found himself the only one to stare back.

* * *

A week passed. At first, Alfred kept checking in the mirror, waiting to see if the boy would reappear. But, as time went on, he decided that he had either been imagining things again or that he had helped the (hopefully nice) ghost to move on simply by speaking to him. So he forgot about him and moved on.

The air in his room still felt heavy yet chillingly cold.

One night he was on his way to bed earlier than normal. School started soon and his parents had insisted upon him going to bed 'at a proper time' in preparation for the early rises he would soon have to endure. So he was wide awake, his glasses were on his face and he had no excuse to brush off any encounters with the boy. And, as he looked into the mirror to pout at himself, he spotted him. The boy was right behind him and he almost spun around in shock. The voice stopped him, though, the boy's lips moving in time.

"No! Don't! If you look away I'll be trapped in darkness again!"

Alfred stared at him, blinking every so often. Finally, he gathered the courage to speak. "Oh. Er. You can speak this time, huh?"

"Yes, it appears so," sighed the boy. He seemed relieved.

"Your accent's weird," was the next thing Alfred could think to say over the thumping of his heart.

"I'm from England. And you're American."

"Yeah... Er... What's your name?"

"Arthur."

"I'm Alfred. I suppose it's nice to meet you." He flashed Arthur a smile but the British ghost snorted and rolled his eyes.

"You 'suppose'? How rude."

"Well, I'm not exactly fond of ghosts!" Alfred exclaimed, rather more angrily than what the situation called for.

For a few seconds, Alfred stood frozen, fearing retribution. Arthur surveyed him, his eyes flickering up and down. "I see," he said at last. "I'm sorry I've frightened you. And I wouldn't normally talk to you but..." The ghost sighed. "I'm stuck here and I can't figure out how to... Well."

"Move on?" asked Alfred, tentatively.

"Exactly. I think I'm stuck in the mirror. And- Well, I mean-" Arthur coughed into his fist. "I was hoping you could maybe... If it's not too much trouble..."

"Help you?" Alfred suggested.

"Yes," Arthur admitted, averting his eyes. Alfred swore he saw a faint blush.

"How do I do that?"

"Oh, I read a lot of things about ghosts when I was alive," explained Arthur, immediately brightening up. "If I remember rightly, you either need to forgive me or burn candles with incense. Or throw holy water and salt at me. Oh, or even get a priest to exorcise me, if that doesn't work."

"Uh..." was Alfred's brilliant response. "Why do I needta forgive you? What'd you do?"

"I killed myself," said Arthur, bluntly.

"Why?"

"Because-"

"Alfred!" shouted Alfred's mother as she banged on his room door. The poor teenager jumped and glanced 'round.

"What?!" he called back.

"Are you in bed yet?"

"Just about to brush my teeth, ma'am!" Alfred called back.

"Well..." his mom said slowly. "Hurry up and get your cute little butt in bed!"

"MOM!" Alfred bellowed as he heard her cackling on her way back downstairs. Sighing, Alfred turned back to Arthur only to find that he'd disappeared again. "Dammit!" he hissed as he glared at the spot he had last seen the ghost.

* * *

Arthur had mentioned reading about ghosts so Alfred went to find things to help him. Unfortunately, the books he found were either super dull or not entirely helpful. The poor boy didn't seem vengeful or evil and almost all of the things seemed to cater to those sorts of spirits. So he turned to the Internet but it didn't help much, either.

After his trip to the library (something he didn't do often, unless for old comics), Alfred went to the nearest department store he could find and bought candles and incense. He also chucked in some candy and popcorn so that, if his parents stopped him on the way in, he wouldn't have to explain his new girly interest. Luckily, when he got home, his parents were in the back yard and he was able to filch a lighter from the kitchen drawer with no-one noticing.

Not sure if he should light them all now, he left a few in the bathroom where he could get them without looking away from the mirror and set up the rest in his room. He lit them that night and had to explain away the odd smell to his mother in the morning as a new deodorant. There was no way to know if it had worked but Alfred didn't see Arthur for weeks and eventually decided Arthur had moved on. He offered up a half-assed prayer for the ghost and moved on with his life.

* * *

Four weeks later, Alfred was studying for a big test in English. He had already had help from Toris, a boy who was from Lithuanian descent, mild-mannered and Alfred's best friend on the East Coast. However, he wasn't sure what they had gone through had stuck so he was doing a bit of extra revision late into the night. And he was beginning to fall asleep.

Groaning, he got up and made his way to the bathroom, relieving himself from the numerous sodas and coffees he had had throughout the night. Then he splashed himself with cold water, willing himself to wake up. Of course, when he looked up, he spotted Arthur, standing directly behind him.

He must have been getting used to it as Alfred only sucked in a large breath in reaction. Letting it out in a sigh, he said, "So the incense and stuff didn't work?"

"Apparently not," answered Arthur with a shrug. His eyes seemed brighter than before, almost glowing. It was unnerving but Alfred ignored the feeling, knowing Arthur was friendly.

"Hang on," Alfred said and reached for the provisions he had left for just this occasion. He set it up without looking and, as soon as the things were lit, he stared hard at Arthur. "Anything?"

"I don't feel anything." Arthur shrugged again and shook his head.

"Hm. Maybe we need to do the forgiveness thing, too." He paused, thinking, before hesitantly continuing. "Why did you kill yourself?"

"Oh, you know," sighed Arthur, his eyes betraying his sadness and despair. "My parents were workaholics and I got left alone with bullying brothers. No-one liked me at school because I had such a fascination with the supernatural and magic." Suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed. "And... I think... I can't remember... something about saying something on a stage? It's kind of a blur, the days leading up to- I-I don't-"

"Hey, hey," Alfred interrupted with as gentle a tone as he could. "It's okay. It doesn't matter if you can remember it all or not. What do you feel guilty about?"

"I..." Arthur looked away and seemed to try to turn away. But he was trapped, imprisoned and he had to look back into Alfred's eyes. "I feel awful about pretending to blame my parents. It wasn't their fault. I... kept it all to myself so..." He sighed. "And I hate that they cried and were so miserable after it. They blamed themselves and... I think I ruined their lives. My brothers' too. And, if I remember correctly, I took it out on people weaker than me at school. I feel absolutely _ghastly_ about that."

"Well, I forgive you for all of it!" declared Alfred. "You felt trapped with nowhere to turn to so it seems to me that you didn't do anything no-one else has done before. As for that... er... other thing... You shouldn't beat yourself up about it. This wasn't your fault."

Arthur smiled at him and Alfred beamed back, happy to have at least received a smile. Then he blinked and Arthur had vanished. Shocked, Alfred called out to him but there was no reply.

Pouting at the fact he had disappeared without so much as a goodbye, Alfred sighed and pushed himself away from the sink. He put out the candles and incense with a few breaths and was about to leave when he could have sworn he heard a distant voice, different from Arthur's.

_Don't listen to him._

Then a different one said, _Run. Get away. Run!_

Alfred blinked and looked back at the mirror but there was nothing there. With a shrug, he told himself that he was just tired and he should probably get some rest or he'd fall asleep in the test the next day.

* * *

It wasn't until Halloween that Alfred saw Arthur again. He was in his bathroom, as was usual for these encounters, painting his face white. For the first time ever, he was dressing as a ghost. The one costume he had avoided for the whole of his life had suddenly become appealing.

He glanced down to dab the sponge in the face paint before lifting it and his eyes. When his eyes met green, just over his shoulder, he gasped. "Shit!" he yelped.

"Sorry," said Arthur, though he sounded amused. "I'm afraid it didn't work."

"Really?" Alfred pouted. "But we did everything the books said!"

"Yes, well... Maybe I'm guilty for something else. I can't quite remember the events leading up to my death. Perhaps there is something I've forgotten that I feel guilty about."

Alfred blew out a breath of annoyance. "What do we do?"

"Maybe you could check the newspapers from around that time. There might be a clue there."

"Okay. When did you die, exactly?"

"I..." Arthur trailed off and frowned. "I don't remember."

"Well, what about your surname and I can look you up instead?"

"I... don't know." Arthur shook his head and shot Alfred an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's fine. I'll do what I can. But if you don't mind, I have a party to go to." Alfred lifted the sponge and glanced back down to the paint. When he returned his gaze to the mirror, he nearly had a heart attack.

Arthur was still there.

The ghost's eyes were just as wide as Alfred's. "I-I didn't disappear. Is-? Do you think-?"

"Maybe you're halfway there!" cried Alfred, grinning widely.

"Exactly. I may be stuck in the mirror, but maybe your efforts are pulling me back. Maybe if I can get _out_ of the mirror..."

"You can move on!" Alfred finished. "That'd be awesome!"

"Oh," said Arthur, suddenly, looking glum. "Perhaps it's only because it's All Hallow's Eve."

"Halloween?"

"Yes."

"Ah..." Alfred had watched a documentary about Halloween once and how ghosts were supposed to be out and about on the night. "It could be." They both fell into a sullen silence until Alfred roused himself. "Well, we'll find out later. But I gotta finish this, so..."

His companion nodded and watched him finish his face painting, helping him out with bits he had missed. Once Alfred was finished he thanked him, told Arthur he'd see him later and turned to go.

_Watch out, Alfred!_

He looked at Arthur in surprise. "Was that you?"

"Was what me?"

"Oh. Never mind. I must just be hearing things."

Arthur grinned wickedly at him. "That's the first sign of madness, you know."

Rolling his eyes, Alfred turned to go once more, calling his farewell over his shoulder.

* * *

Surprisingly, when Alfred got back that night – after midnight – he found Arthur waiting for him. Apparently, neither had been expecting to see the other but had quickly gotten over it. At a loss of what to do to help Arthur, Alfred had offered him friendship, talking to him whenever he could, careful not to let his parents hear. Since talking had brought him closer, maybe that would help.

After a few weeks of this, Alfred's life began to change dramatically. He no longer hung around with his friends. Toris was only called when he needed help from homework that Arthur couldn't give: Arthur was clever so it wasn't very often. The games consoles were barely touched and Tony hadn't seen him in months.

They figured out in the new year that Arthur could move between the mirror in the bathroom and to any reflective surface in Alfred's bedroom so Alfred bought a smaller mirror. It was hidden under his bed when his parents were likely to walk in and eagerly retrieved when they left the house or went to bed. Either of them walking in on Alfred was becoming rare as he spoke with them less and less.

Conversations became long. Jokes only the two of them understood were created. Heartfelt discussions about the world and people they knew (or had known, in the case of Arthur). Alfred grew to know Arthur extremely well, and Arthur did likewise.

Arthur's issue of moving on was not brought up much during the time they spent together. The ghost seemed to have accepted that Alfred could do nothing. However, Alfred knew differently: he had neglected to get a priest or other religious person to help exorcise him. At first it was because he knew it would be difficult to do it without his parents finding out and explaining it to them was out of the question. Then he began to grow quite attached to the boy and he was unsure if he was willing to let him go.

And throughout it all, he heard those voices, whispers on the wind. _Don't do it! Run! Save yourself!_

But he ignored them. He had no clue what they were talking about but, if it was about Arthur, then he trusted him over the creepy ghosts trying to dissuade him. Arthur was his friend, after all.

* * *

"You've got jam at the side of your mouth," said Arthur, interrupting what Alfred had been telling him about.

"Jelly," Alfred corrected even as he started to run water into the sink.

Arthur stared at him unamused for a moment before sighing. "Fine. You have your breakfast smeared around your mouth like the messy eater you are."

Alfred grinned at him before bending over to scrub at his face with soap and water. With eyes screwed shut against the lethal soap, he blindly grabbed a towel and rubbed it dry. Then he replaced it and turned back to the mirror – only to yell in fright.

Beforehand, Arthur had only been visible over his shoulder, as if he was behind him. Despite getting closer, he had never been in front of Alfred. It was rather something of a headache for Alfred who kept wanting to turn around to look at him properly. Now, though, Arthur's face was right in front of him and looking just as startled as he felt.

"Oh my-" Arthur began but broke off and stared at Alfred, wide-eyed. Alfred gazed at him, looking at him properly for what felt like the first time since he had met him. It was comforting to be able to see him like this, as though he was a real person that he could hug and help.

"You're closer!" Alfred cried out, grinning widely once the shock had worn off. "Is it 'cause I'm talking to you?"

"Maybe," agreed Arthur, hurriedly, grinning just as much as the American. "There must be some sort of special connection between us!"

"Do you think I can pull you through?"

"Try it!"

And so he did. Hesitantly, he reached a hand out, his fingers stretching. Almost instinctively, Arthur held his hand up, too. But, when his hand reached the mirror, he jolted as he hit the surface. They stared at their hands, pressed up against each other, separated by the glass.

"But..." began Arthur and Alfred felt such great sadness spread through his chest at the ghost's tone. He didn't speak up, allowing Arthur a moment. It looked as though he was fighting back tears (could ghosts cry?). Suddenly, his head jerked up and he stared at Alfred again, his eyes wider than before.

"What...?" asked Alfred, hesitantly.

"Maybe it's not the hand that's the connection! Your eyes were what kept me in the mirror before. If you rest your head against the mirror-!"

"Okay! I'll try!" And he shoved his head at the mirror, so hard that it hurt when it banged against it. Stepping back, he winced in pain and looked back at Arthur. The poor guy looked desperate now. He brought up both his hands to rest against the barrier and leaned his head against it as he visibly shook. "Artie..."

"This-! No. I-I'm stuck! I'll never-!

"No!" declared Alfred, firmly. "It's- Maybe another body part. Um, um..." He hesitated for a moment as his mind drifted between solutions and half-formed thoughts: from wanting Arthur's happy ending to all the Disney movies he had ever watched and true love's kiss... "Hey," he murmured, blushing now. "D'ya think a... kiss'll work?"

"A kiss?" asked Arthur, tilting his head and blinking. "What do you mean?"

"Like in the movies. A kiss makes everything better, right? And-And it'll be okay 'cause the mirror's still separating us but maybe something magic'll happen and we'll be toge- Er, you'll be here."

Still blinking, obviously surprised by the suggestion, Arthur straightened up, gazing at a point slightly above Alfred's head. His silence allowed those whispered voices to speak again, warning Alfred away, not to do it, stop. But Alfred ignored them once again. If whatever ghosts were there couldn't show themselves like Arthur had, he wasn't going to listen to them.

"Yes... Maybe..." Arthur nodded. "Let's do this."

So, both blushing, they leaned in simultaneously. Alfred blushed harder in the realisation they were moving in sync. His eyelids fluttered closed as they grew closer and he pursed his lips in preparation. Finally, his lips touched cool, smooth glass and he heard a small smooching sound before he pulled away hurriedly and blinked his eyes open.

Arthur was gone and he stared back at his reflection. He deflated instantly, thinking he would have at least seen him behind Though... Now that he glanced around the room's reflections, he realised there was something funny about it. For a moment, he could only stare, his eyes flickering over the mirror, taking everything in until- Yes, there: the shower was usually on his left side of the mirror but now it was on his right. He frowned in confusion – and realised the other odd thing.

His reflection was grinning at him.

But that was against the laws of physics. Only one person Alfred knew could be fiddling with the mirror. "Arthur?" he asked.

"Oh?" replied his reflection, sounding odd as it was speaking with Alfred's voice. It sounded like the times Alfred had heard his voice played back to him, obviously his own and yet a little different, a little deeper. Everything about this situation seemed skewed, as though he was dreaming. But he listened as his reflection continued and confirmed who he was. "I must say, Alfred my dear, you are the first person to realise that so quickly."

"What... do you-? How are you-?"

The reflection rolled his eyes before reaching up. The view swung around so that Alfred was staring in disbelief at the cistern and small window which looked out onto the back yard. Then it swung back and he watched the reflection opening a tub of hair gel that he kept despite never using it.

"Put simply," the reflection said, "I am in your body. And you are in the mirror. Thank you for releasing me, by the way. Utterly foolish but much appreciated."

"Releasing you?"

As it scooped up a small amount of gel, the reflection scoffed. "Yes. Did you really think I was so weak as to kill myself?"

"But..."

Whatever it was Alfred was looking at smirked. It didn't look right on his face, as though someone had pasted two pictures together on Photoshop and placed a warped filter on it. "Was I that good?" it said. "Perhaps I should take acting up as a career."

"What _are_ you, then?" Alfred demanded, angry now.

"Oh, I'm just pure evil." It sounded like it was mocking Alfred, not serious and yet deadly so. "Why do you think the people who live here die?" Alfred jerked in surprise. He hadn't expected that, despite the current situation. They hadn't killed themselves. It had been a sort of supernatural murder.

"I don't... Why?"

"Why?" repeated Arthur, twisting Alfred's face more and into awful grin that sent chills up Alfred's spine. "Because I want to. Being stuck in that mirror is annoying. It's boring and there are those damned Shadow People – be careful of them, by the way. You may be dead but your spirit is keeping this body alive."

"D-Dead?! But-!"

Arthur rolled Alfred's shining, blue eyes. "Oh, for- You've just had your soul ripped out through your mouth, my dear. Of course you're dead."

"You- Why would you-? I thought we were friends!"

"More fool you," murmured Arthur as he reached up and began to coax Alfred's stubborn cowlick down. "You probably should have listened to the others. They _did_ try to warn you."

"Oh, God," groaned Alfred, tempted to glance over his shoulder.

"Don't," said Arthur as he patted at Alfred's head – his head, now – obviously pleased with his new physical form and satisfied that the gel was holding. "If you catch sight of a Shadow Person, they may devour you. So do be careful. I'd like a good few months in this body, thank you very much. I've seen your muscles – I wonder if I can use them to impress some girls. And maybe some boys, too." He grinned up at a horrified Alfred, his eyes flashing green for a moment before settling down.

"You can't do that! Everyone will know something's wrong!"

"Ah, my darling, you really are very stupid." Arthur patted down his new clothes, smoothing out some creases, a habit Alfred had seen him do in the mirror. "Over the past few months, you've been neglecting your loved ones in favour of me. They'll probably just think you're being a rebellious teenager. Speaking of which, have you ever drank any alcohol? Oh, of course not. I think I'll be doing that tonight."

"But my exams!" cried Alfred, feeling tears prick his eyes. He couldn't believe he had been tricked by this monster. After all those lectures about not talking to strangers and he had done just that. This was the ultimate moral lesson but without the chance to learn from it.

"Screw your exams, love. I have more important things to be doing." Arthur grinned at Alfred again, a glint in his eye which made Alfred shiver. "Besides, you're dead and your body will... Hm, let's see. I haven't tripped into oncoming traffic in a while. That sounds like fun."

"Stop it!" shouted Alfred, openly crying now. "Just- Please, let me go back."

"No, sorry. I like the physical world too much. Thank you _so much_ for your help." Suddenly, Arthur leaned forward with his lips pursed and Alfred stared as he kissed where his cheek would be on the glass. "Now, I'm about to leave. I'll see you in the next mirror but, until then, you should get acquainted in your new home." And, with a final wink, Alfred's body left his field of vision.

The poor boy yelped and tried to follow its movements but he was inhibited by the mirror. For a few moments, he stood still, leaning against the it, first taking deep breaths to calm himself before beginning to sob hysterically. He wanted this to be a dream, a bad dream, one he would wake up from and tell Arthur and the nice ghost would comfort him and they would laugh off this horrible feeling of helplessness.

However, from behind him, he could hear the whispering, rising in volume and pitch, hundreds of people telling him what he had only heard fragments of before. That swiftly changed to mocking and, with some reluctance, he turned and stared into darkness. No shapes could be discerned and he couldn't tell if he was in a room or not. The pitch black pressed down on his senses and he whimpered in dismay. Light from the mirror didn't penetrate it. He sensed more than saw some sort of movement; darker shadows moving against the shroud.

Quickly, he spun away and clutched at the mirror which connected to his world, hoping it would be some sort of anger, hoping he could pass through it again, hoping Arthur would come back and tell him it was a joke, hoping to see his parents and get them to comfort him. But he knew, instinctively, that none of that would happen. All he could do was wait here, wasting down to a voice who would warn the next person but be too late. Alfred was trapped here with the lurking shadows that moved steadily towards him, craving the fear which made him shake.

No-one could save him now.


	2. The Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew is shocked when his cousin dies suddenly but life moves on. Years later, he decides to keep his lonely aunt company and moves into the very room Alfred had used. And that was when he started to see strange things in the mirror...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: You know how people died in the last chapter...? Well.

Matthew had never been all that close to Alfred. This wasn't because they didn't like each other; rather, it was his mother and Alfred's father who had had a falling out and kept out of each other's way as much as possible. The Williams lived in Canada and the Jones lived in America, in California till their move to Virginia. Matthew had overheard his parents discussing it and saying it was probably a safer place for Alfred than California and its horrible influences. He had the feeling something bad had happened in California once upon a time, perhaps the reason for his family's estrangement.

The two boys met up during the summer holidays, content to at least spend a few months together – or a couple of weeks if one was too busy with camps or going to another country. During the school term, they tended to lose touch, caught up in school and school work, friends and extracurricular activity. Christmas would find cards being sent, filling in the other with what they had been up to.

A few months before the accident, Matthew had received his usual Christmas card and was alarmed to see that it was so distant, as though Alfred was preoccupied with something. He told his parents his worries but they had reassured him that it was probably something like a crush. This had not cheered him up: if Alfred had a crush and hadn't told him, what did he think of Matthew? But Matthew left it at that, determined to catch him the next time they were online together.

Then, at the end of June, Matthew called to talk to him and discuss what they would be doing for the holidays. He called and called but they never got through: either he was out when he called or the line was engaged. Same thing for his cell phone. Eventually, Matthew gave up and celebrated his birthday without Alfred for the first time ever.

Three days later, Alfred was dead.

They said that he had been looking at his phone as he crossed the road. They said the driver had had his vision blocked by an illegally parked car. They said Alfred may have been able to save himself had he not tripped. They said it was a horrible accident.

But Matthew knew differently. That day had been Alfred's birthday and, since Matthew had no idea what Alfred had been doing to celebrate, he had sent him a message to wish him a happy one and to express his sorrow for not being there. It was sent 20:02 ET. The accident occurred a couple of minutes later.

It had come as something of a shock and, at first, he told no-one. He and his parents attended the funeral where Alfred's mother had wailed in despair and his father had stared into space, unable to react to anything. Matthew had held back tears, of course, feeling that he couldn't cry since he had been the person to cause Alfred's death. He didn't deserve to cry so openly.

Then they went back to their house for the wake.

As Matthew's parents were expressing their condolences and offering to help the bereft couple, Matthew couldn't take it any more. He came clean, tears falling as he tried to hold in his own sobs. His aunt quickly gathered him up and they cried in the corner of the room together. After he had calmed down, the poor woman told him how it wasn't his fault but theirs – he had changed in the months leading up to his death and they blamed themselves. Although Matthew tried to reassure her, it was to no avail and, eventually, his uncle came over to guide her away.

"If you want," he said once he had wrapped his arms around her, "you can go see Alfred's room. Maybe... Maybe take something."

That was how Matthew found himself in a room with a familiar set-up. The TV and games consoles opposite the bed with its crumpled sheets. He didn't dare open the wardrobe, just in case clothes fell out. Interestingly, there was an en suite bathroom and he ventured in, glancing around.

Catching sight of his horrible face in the mirror, he sighed and ran some water, washing the tears away. Once he had dried his face and put his glasses back into place, he surveyed his face. Deciding it was suitable and feeling refreshed, he turned to go.

_Mattie!_

Freezing, Matthew's eyes widened. Had he just heard that? Shaking his head, he hurried out of the bathroom. He could feel tears building up again: his brain was betraying him, providing him the memory of Alfred's voice but not the boy himself. It was like it was reminding him whose fault it was for his death.

In the end, he ended up with all of Alfred's games, DVDs and comics that he didn't already have along with a few books he was surprised Alfred had bothered to read. There was also a mirror he had found under Alfred's bed – his parents were surprised to see it but let him have it.

"I don't think it was that impo-" began Aunt Sarah before choking up and burying her head in her husband's shoulder. Matthew merely nodded and joined his parents in their car.

* * *

It would be several years before Matthew saw any of his American relatives. As he went through the rest of high school, still feeling guilty over the text which had caused Alfred's death, his aunt and uncle went through a rough patch. From what little he heard (his parents didn't want to stress him out during his exams), they both blamed themselves and each other. By the time he got to college, his uncle had begun to travel, seeking who knows what. It was more like a separation than anything else and Matthew worried for them both.

When he was graduating from college, he decided to continue his academic career. Bearing in mind his lonely aunt, he found himself looking at universities in America. One such university he found to be in Richmond and since the course seemed perfect for him, he applied. Then he called up Aunt Sarah.

"Hey, Aunt Sarah. It's been a while."

"Matthew? Oh, darling! Not heard from you in a while. How are you?"

"I'm good, yeah. Going to be doing a Master's."

"Ah, yes. In Teaching, right?"

"That's right," he said, grinning a little. "I'm planning to do that and then maybe I can get a placement. Then I can hopefully teach somewhere in Canada."

"What level do you want to teach?" Aunt Sarah asked as he heard the rustle of cloth shifting through the crackle of the phone line, perhaps from her shifting the phone around.

"High school, hopefully," replied Matthew. "I mean, a lot of my teachers were really helpful and it really relieved the stress of exams and school life. Hopefully, I can match that."

"Oh, listen to you," teased Aunt Sarah, laughing. "You sound all grown up now!"

Matthew laughed before steeling himself for the next part. "Actually, I'm trying to get into Richmond."

"Really? Does this mean I get to see me favourite nephew more often?"

"I'm your only nephew," Matthew pointed out with a laugh. He grew serious once more. "Actually, I was hoping that I could stay with you. I can pay my way; get a job, I mean. It would be better than trying to find somewhere to stay in Richmond, right? A-And I could stay in..."

There was a disconcerting silence. Matthew's heart sank and he opened his mouth to apologise when his aunt spoke. "Oh. Well. That would be nice, yeah. When will you know you've gotten in, sweetie?"

"Uh, in a month or so, I think."

"I'm sure you'll get in, Mattie. I'll make sure the room is ready for you." Matthew could hear the faint smile on her face but he could also hear her sadness. She had probably kept Alfred's room exactly as he had left it. "Anything else to report?" she continued, obviously attempting to shake off the melancholy.

"Eh, nothing much," said Matthew with a shrug, allowing the change in subject. However, just before they hung up, Matthew made sure to tell his aunt that she needn't change the room too much. She agreed and Matthew went back to his dinner.

* * *

It felt like no time at all that Matthew was lowering a backpack onto his temporary bed, a suitcase sitting beneath the window. As he had predicted, his aunt had barely gone inside the room. She had obviously been in to clean somewhat but there was still a layer of dust on the games consoles beneath the TV. The curtains seemed a little dusty and, when Matthew tapped one of them, he found himself coughing.

"I'm sorry, Mattie," said Aunt Sarah from the door. "I just... I couldn't-"

"It's okay, Aunt Sarah," said Matthew with a small smile. "I'll clean up; it's the least I can do when you're letting me sleep here."

"You're family, Mattie. You don't need to be so polite." His aunt chuckled. "Let me get us some coffee and a few of the cakes I've been making for the local bake sale."

She left him to it and Matthew turned his attention to his bags. He nipped into the bathroom and dropped off his toiletries. Turning to the wardrobe, he opened it to find all of Alfred's clothes either in a mess at the bottom or hanging limply. He paused with a pained expression as a few mothballs rolled out.

Sighing, he rested his head against the door, closing his eyes. God, had it really been so long? It seemed like just yesterday he had sent that text.

Frowning at himself, he straightened and closed the doors. He would have to deal with that later once he had gotten some stuff for cleaning. In the meantime, he turned to his suitcase and crouched beside it. Flipping it over, he unzipped it and pushed the top off. He buried his hands into the pile of clothes resting there until his fingers brushed something hard. Quickly, he grabbed it and pulled it out carefully, the clothes slowly slipping from the top of it. When he had it free, he turned and propped the mirror up below the window.

It was the same one he had found under Alfred's bed all those years ago and he felt it belonged here.

* * *

Matthew had just returned from a day at his part-time job in a café, at the end of his second week at university, utterly exhausted. For some reason, it had been unbearably busy in the small place that day and Matthew had been run off his feet. His Master's course was demanding as well. Without bothering to get changed into fresh clothes, he collapsed face first onto his maple leaf quilt.

Aunt Sarah had gone out for the night, to some sort of community thing. He could barely keep track of the woman since she was doing a lot of charity work as well as her paying job. In fact, she was out more than he was.

Not that he had too many friends in America to hang out with. All of his friends he had had were the ones Alfred had been friends with in California. The only one he was still in touch with was the Dutch guy who had been there on holiday and roped into hanging out with Alfred by his cousin. But he was in Amsterdam so it was hard to go out to bars and anything else without him in the same country.

Eventually, his stomach caused him to groan and roll off the bed. He landed in a crouch and rose to head to the en suite bathroom to wake himself up a little. As he splashed water into his face, he considered his options. The fridge and freezer were stocked up, as far as he was aware, so he could make himself something. But, since he was so tired, he figured he would stick in a microwaveable meal. Yawning, he dried off his hands and face. Once he had replaced his glasses, he reflexively glanced into the mirror.

There was a shadowy figure behind him.

Gasping, Matthew spun around, his strange shade of blue eyes open wide. However, there was nothing there. He stared for a moment before slowly putting a hand over his heart, trying to calm its wild beating.

Finally, he forced himself to move, walking briskly from the small bathroom. Obviously he was just overtired.

* * *

Two weeks later, Matthew managed to wrangle a long lie. He woke feeling refreshed and awake. With a yawn, a stretch and a sigh, he rose from his bed and meandered into the bathroom. The shower washed away the last strains of fatigue and he soon felt wide awake. Once he had dried himself off, he turned his attention to the mirror so he could comb his hair and shave. But it was covered in condensation so, with a soft sigh, he picked up the discarded towel he had already used to wipe it down.

As soon as it was clear, he squinted into the mirror, the water droplets still present distorting the image within. He adjusted his glasses and wiped it once more. When the towel moved out of the way, Matthew suddenly saw an indistinct figure behind him. Had the room not been so small, he would have said that he was far behind him, perhaps the length of the house. Whoever it was had blonde hair and was shorter than him but he couldn't make out anything else.

Instinct demanded he turned around to check that the person wasn't behind him. However, Matthew could only stare at the thing in the mirror, his heart hammering. Was that...? Could it be?

"Alfred?" he whispered.

That single word seemed to shatter the stillness and, when he blinked, the figure was gone. The mirror began to shake slightly, though, and then a screaming started in his ears. With a yell, he slapped his hands over them, crouching on the tiles with his eyes screwed shut. His heart was beating terribly fast and it took a long time for it to calm. Once the ringing in his ears subsided somewhat, he removed his hands – only to hear something much more disturbing than the screaming.

Coming from everywhere and nowhere was a familiar, cheerful voice saying, _MattieMattieMattieMattieMattie!_

* * *

Despite leaving the bathroom as quickly as he could, Matthew was left with questions and a sense of dread. It had drawn him from the house and straight to the local library. He had had to head off his aunt's questioning about the noise he had made before he could answer his own.

Had he seen Alfred? Or was he suffering from some sort of psychotic episode brought on by guilt and living in the same space as his he had? He had thought he had gotten over it years ago. But, sometimes, he would spot his aunt looking melancholy and knew who she was thinking of, bringing on a twinge of guilt, despite telling himself over and over that it wasn't his fault.

If he was Alfred, then why was he in the mirror? That made no sense – surely he would have appeared in the bedroom? Or maybe even the road he had been killed on. To make sure, Matthew had taken a route which forced him on the very stretch of tarmac. Nothing had happened and, as much as he tried to see anything out of the ordinary, there was nothing odd there.

And, if his spirit was stuck in the mirror, did that mean he couldn't get to Heaven? Matthew had been brought up with a regular monthly visit to the church, courtesy of his Canadian grandparents, but he had never really put much stock in the old tales once he had gotten older. Now, though... If spirits were real, then was Heaven?

Heaven being real made Matthew feel hopeful. But a big dampener was that Alfred seemed to be stuck. Could he find a way to help him? Would he ever be able to apologise for what he had done?

By the end of the day, he had read a lot about spirits and mirrors but everything was vague. There was nothing for his specific situation and he had to give up on that source. Deciding to go home to use his own Internet, he left the pile of books with the librarian as they were closing.

"Oh!" she said, blinking down at the unusual combination of books. "Deja vu."

"Sorry?" asked Matthew, utterly bewildered.

"Ah, sorry. You see, a kid came in what must have been... six, seven years ago? He looked at all these at the same time which I thought, hey, weird combo so I asked him about it. He said something about wanting to know more about a TV show. I remember because he looked kind of embarrassed about it and I figured it was some sort of dare."

"I see..." said Matthew, slowly, thinking. Seven years ago... Alfred would have been alive then. He wondered if the kid had been him.

* * *

Matthew was barely five seconds in the house when Aunt Sarah appeared before him with her arms crossed and a frown on her face. "And just where have you been?" she demanded.

He winced. After all, he had told her he needed to go to the library and had hurried out while she tried to ask why. It appeared she had been suspicious of him and her suspicions had grown the longer he had stayed out – he had never rushed out of the house before, not without a proper explanation. But... maybe if she knew _why_ he could lay all her doubts to rest – and he could get some much needed help.

"I was at the library," he confirmed. "It took a while to find what I needed Because... I saw a ghost." Matthew watched as Aunt Sarah stiffened. "In the mirror in my bathroom. I think it might be-"

"No," growled Aunt Sarah, looking uncharacteristically angry. "You stop. Now."

"What? But it's true-!"

"Matthew!" Now Aunt Sarah looked distressed. "I don't know what you're seeing but it's not him!"

"How can you be so sure?" demanded Matthew, trying to make her see sense. "How do you know?"

"Because- Why do you think your uncle's not here!"

"What...?"

Aunt Sarah sighed and suddenly looked so much older than she actually was. Exhaustion pulled her mouth into a frown and her eyes were distant. "We were having trouble with Alfred before he died - typical teenage rebellion, really. I felt awful for the way we had been shouting at him. I needed some sort of closure and I insisted on bringing in psychics. They were all frauds. And the ones who weren't said there was no-one here, not one ghost. Eventually... Well, it drove Martin away, off around the world. If you're seeing things in the mirror..." She focussed on him, frowning now in worry. "I don't know what you're seeing but Alfred is gone and there's no bringing him back. Are you feeling well? You could be overworking yourself..."

"I'm fine," Matthew insisted. He decided to try one more time. "But if you just got a psychic to co-"

"No, Mattie. They'll tell you the same as they told me."

"But-"

"No!" screeched Aunt Sarah. "I'll have no more talk of this! No more ghosts or psychics or-or seances or ouija boards!"

Matthew stared at her for a moment. The sadness, guilt and exhaustion were much more pronounced than before. He nodded glumly, realising now that he would have to solve this on his own, to spare his aunt the sorrow. "Yes, Aunt Sarah," he said and hurried upstairs to the confines of his room.

* * *

 

As soon as he had managed to hole himself up in his room, he began browsing the Internet. He spent hours on Google and trawling through the sites it brought up. It took a long time to find anything different from the books and the only thing he did find were stories of people smashing the mirror a spirit was in. This apparently destroyed the spirit completely.

Dismissing this as unacceptable, Matthew gave up on getting anything concrete. Instead, he began to watch for Alfred in the mirror. However, it took a week for him to see anything in the glass – and it certainly wasn't Alfred.

It had started out as a regular morning. He had stared in the mirror for a minute before, disappointed, he relieved himself and showered. When he brushed his teeth, he bent over to spit out the toothpaste and, when he straightened, he found himself glancing into the startlingly green eyes of a strange boy. He gaped at him for a second. So he hadn't seen Alfred? But he had definitely heard him... What was going on? Who was this?

"Um... Hello?" he said.

The boy's mouth opened and closed several times. It was obvious that he was trying to speak but Matthew couldn't hear him. He wondered why that was, when he had clearly heard Alfred's voice. Shooting the boy a confused look, the spirit finally stopped and he apparently heaved a silent sigh.

"Wait a minute," Matthew told him. "I'll go find a pen and paper, okay?"

Before the ghost could say anything (or not), he hurried from the bathroom. Grabbing his backpack, he rifled through it for a pad of paper and a pen that he used for his classes. He rushed back and glanced around the room before returning his attention to the mirror.

The boy had disappeared.

* * *

On Halloween, Matthew was swamped with work. He had been in college all day, done a shift at the café and was now trying to write an essay while keeping an ear out for any knocks on the front door. Aunt Sarah had gone to a party dressed as something Matthew would rather forget.

It was creepier than a ghost in the mirror.

Since the meeting with the boy, Matthew had done a lot of thinking. It was clearly obvious that the boy was not his cousin. However, that meant that the ghost had been there when Alfred had been alive. Had Alfred seen the ghost? It could explain the mirror beneath the bed. A hidden communication device. But, if that was the case, why had the boy not appeared to Matthew in the mirror propped up in the bedroom? Was he confined to the bathroom one?

And was it a benign or a malicious ghost?

Had it hurt Alfred? Would it hurt him if he continued to acknowledge it? After all, it was getting closer the more he puzzled over it. That was what scared him the most. His aunt and uncle had also mentioned the change in behaviour of Alfred before he died. Had seeing the ghost affected Alfred? Did he keep it to himself because he didn't want to sound crazy?

If it was a good ghost, could he help it? There were mentions of various strange methods of exorcising a ghost without getting a priest. He had bought incense and set some up in both the bathroom and the bedroom. Supposedly, they were holy candles but Matthew was unsure as to whether they had worked.

The thing that distracted him the most from his work, though, was that he had gotten a self-proclaimed psychic to come the day before when his aunt had been out and he had had the house to himself. A woman named Fiona had turned up, dripping bangles and large, tacky baubles. He had almost immediately wanted to cancel their agreement: she looked too fake to be the real thing. But his curiosity had persevered and he showed her in. Upon walking into the bedroom, she had instantly screamed and rushed from the room. When he had managed to find her again, cowering by the front door, she had explained that the room was heavy with spiritual activity like she had never felt before. There was so much that she couldn't pick out which one Matthew needed to know about. He had driven her home and returned.

So he had asked for a priest to come with holy water and salt on the coming Sunday.

Of course, the other way to get rid of a ghost was forgiving the poor thing for something it had done while it was alive. Unfortunately, he could only do that if he could speak to the ghost, something which he deemed unlikely. Especially since it had been almost two weeks since he had last seen it.

Rubbing at his eyes, Matthew yawned, grabbed a glass and made his way to the bathroom to get himself something to drink. As he waited for it to fill up, Matthew glanced into the mirror out of habit – and found the boy, now closer but still behind him, staring back at him. With a surprised yelp, he dropped the glass and it shattered. Before he could look down to clean it up, the boy opened his mouth and finally said something Matthew could hear.

"No! Don't! If you look away I'll be trapped in darkness again!"

Matthew blinked at him. "Darkness? What do you mean?"

"I think I'm stuck in this mirror. Whenever someone doesn't look at me, all I can see is darkness." The boy frowned.

"It's Halloween, though. Aren't you supposed to be able to move around a lot more?"

"I... don't know," it admitted.

"Who _are_ you? _What_ are you?"

"Arthur," replied the ghost. "But what I am escapes me. Who are _you_?"

"Matthew." Frowning, Matthew tilted his head. "Is that... That's an English accent, isn't it? What are you doing here?"

Now it was the ghost's turn to frown. "People can move, can they not? Or are you outlawing that?"

Raising his hands in surrender, Matthew shrugged. "I don't know. I was only asking."

"Ah. Sorry. I'm a little stressed. Being stuck here has made me... quite irritable. I wish I could go out into the rain or be able to see a sunset or sunrise. Or-Or... several things like that. I miss being alive."

"How did you die?"

"I killed myself."

"Ah. Is that what I need to forgive to let you move on?"

"Maybe," agreed Arthur, nodding thoughtfully.

"Well, before I forgive you, I have a question for you." Once the boy looked interested enough, Matthew continued. "Did you ever meet a boy here? Blonde hair, blue eyes. He was called Alfred."

"Alfred?" repeated the ghost. "No... I don't recall an Alfred. I'm sorry."

Matthew surveyed the boy who looked rather apologetic. "I see. I forgive you, then."

They both waited, staring at each other. But nothing happened and Arthur eventually seemed to deflate. "It seems that didn't work..."

"Nope. But I've got a priest coming on Sunday. Maybe that'll do it?"

"Maybe. We can but hope."

At that point, the doorbell rang. Matthew jumped, gasping in surprise. Apparently, it was still early enough for trick-or-treaters. "Sorry," he told Arthur. "I have to go."

"No!" cried Arthur as Matthew turned away. "Wait!"

Ignoring the ghost, Matthew hurried downstairs and grabbed the bowl full of sweets and chocolate and other such treats. There was even a few pieces of optimistic fruit but he had no doubt that he would be eating them instead. Answering the door, he was confronted with a Captain America, a cowboy and a traditional sheet ghost. Chuckling, Matthew proffered the sweets. After a brief conversation about each of their costumes, Matthew let them move on and returned to his room. He went back to the mirror and looked in to see if Arthur was still there.

Surprisingly, instead of disappearing, Arthur was still there. He appeared shocked to see Matthew so soon and gaped at the Canadian. "I... I'm still...?"

"Yeah..." said Matthew, not as enthusiastically as Arthur might have liked. But he was beginning to feel rather uneasy and wasn't sure what to say to the ghost.

* * *

Both the young man and the ghost endured a full day of stilted conversation. Matthew was not sure whether to trust him or not, especially since there was the odd occasion when he could hear the whispering. Whereas everything had started with him hearing only Alfred's voice, now there were others, all of them whispering warnings. _Run! Don't do it! Stay away!_

Finally, Sunday brought Father Brown to the house. He was an older man, his hair greying and disappearing from his shiny dome. Straightening his dog collar, he stepped into the house with a friendly greeting. Before they went upstairs, Matthew explained what had happened and the more recent developments, such as Arthur being able to appear in the mirror in the bedroom. He also told the priest of the psychic's reaction and his own feelings of wishing to be elsewhere.

"I see," said the religious man, nodding solemnly. "It sounds as if you have an evil spirit residing here. No doubt, somebody tried to use witchcraft and summoned a demon of some sort into it."

"Does it have anything to do with my cousin's death?" asked Matthew, worriedly.

"There is a possibility. However, we cannot know for sure and talking to it will not yield any true answers. Shall I bless your room? I can exorcise it after I've made sure you're safe from its evil influences."

"Yes. Thank you, Father," said Matthew, smiling at him briefly before leading the way upstairs. He ushered the priest into the room and glanced in the mirror. Arthur was nowhere to be seen. "He appears in that one."

Nodding, the Father looked around, taking in the unchanged room. Only the sheets on the bed and Matthew's books had been added. The rest of the things and the decorations were entirely Alfred's; neither he nor his aunt wished to get rid of them. Glancing at Matthew the Father looked as though he wanted to say something. However, they were both interrupted by the doorbell.

"Oh!" said Matthew, blinking in surprise. "I should... Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine, son. Off you go. I will start my preparations."

Trusting the man, Matthew went downstairs and answered the door. It turned out to be one of the neighbours dropping off some dirty clothes: their washing machine had broken and, in the meantime, Aunt Sarah had promised to do it for them. They had a brief, meaningless conversation about how they were and, finally, the woman went back to her own house. Just as Matthew was setting down the rather heavy basket next to their own machine, he heard a scream from upstairs.

With wide eyes, he raced back to his bedroom, throwing the door open. The priest was lying in the middle of the room, his grey hair darkened with blood. An open bottle of water was lying on its side, the contents seeping into the carpet. Beside him, the mirror had landed face down, almost slipping under the bed. One corner was coated in a red substance.

Matthew could only gape at the scene before he thought to call for an ambulance.

* * *

Aunt Sarah asked her own questions when Matthew finally got home that night. Thankfully, the priest was still alive. He had woken several hours later and had been able to tell the police that Matthew had nothing to do with the attack – which was lucky, for the detectives had been interrogating him relentlessly since the priest had been stabilised. When he got home, he wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed but he was intercepted.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded his aunt.

"Ah... Well." Matthew was uncertain if he should tell his aunt about the ghost and the evil residing in the house. If she did, would it harm her mentally? Would she even believe him? "I'm not entirely sure," he settled on, deciding to use a half-truth. After all, how was it a spirit stuck in a mirror had used it to attack a holy man?

"Really?" Aunt Sarah looked both unamused and unimpressed.

"Yeah... I'm going to bed – if that's okay?"

"Fine, fine," sighed Aunt Sarah. "But I want to talk to you about all the odd things going on in this house. A few weeks ago, your room smelled exactly like... like when..." Her voice became strained, suddenly. "When Alfred claimed to be using a new deodorant... But I know he wasn't."

That caught Matthew's attention. He turned back to her, noting her glum and guilty expression. "Aunt Sarah..." he started, slowly. When he had her attention, he bit his lip for a moment before ploughing ahead. "Did... Did Alfred ever mention someone called Arthur to you?"

She looked at him in confusion for a moment before frowning in thought. "I... I think so. Yes. Yes, I remember now. We told him he should get out more but he said something about how, if he went out, Arthur would be upset. We asked him who that was, of course, but he kept quiet."

"Oh, okay." So Arthur had lied to him. What else was he lying about?

"Why do you want to know?"

"Ah. I bumped into someone called Arthur who thought I was Alfred. He was rather shocked that Alfred was... well... And for so long, too. So I wondered how he knew him."

"I see. Poor man. It must be somewhat of a shock to find out news that late."

"Yup. Well. Goodnight," said Matthew, with a smile, eager to get to his bed. After all, he may dislike Arthur for lying but he was just as bad.

* * *

One day, not long after the strange incident – for which he had had to make up an entire story for his aunt (which he was sure meant that he would be going straight to hell for lying about a priest) – Matthew went into his bathroom to shave. He had been being lazy, mainly because he hated talking to Arthur. After all, every session was filled with lies from both parties. The mirror in the bedroom had been left face down under the bed. It had crossed his mind that Alfred had left it there for a reason.

Now, though, he looked so scruffy people were starting to frown when he saw him. Or, worse, comment on it. Whenever that happened, Matthew would grimace and have to try to explain. Really, he was getting sick of it and was looking forward to the Christmas holidays when he could go home and see his parents.

"Good morning, Matthew," said Arthur as soon as he came into the room. The Canadian merely grunted in response and began to lather his shaving cream: mornings were not a time for extensive conversation. "It's been a while since you did that," continued Arthur, surveying his face closely. "In fact, it's been a while since I saw you at all."

"Uh huh," said Matthew, vaguely. He was too busy concentrating to give a reply. This one-sided, barbed conversation continued until Matthew had finished and glanced down to wash off his shaver in the sink. When he looked back up, he yelped and jumped backwards, eyes wide at the vision before him.

Instead of his own reflection, the shocked face of Arthur was staring back at him.

"Oh... Oh, my goodness," breathed Arthur. "I-I'm so close!"

"Close? To what?" asked Matthew, suspiciously.

"To the world," answered Arthur. "Maybe if I get out of this mirror, I'll be able to move on!"

Matthew frowned at him. How would they get him out? And what would happen when he got to this side? He felt uneasy again and the warnings he had heard seemed to echo in his head: _Don't do it! Run! Get away! Don't listen to him!_

_Mattie!_

Before Matthew could do or say anything, he heard a shout from downstairs. "Oh. Hang on," he told Arthur and hurried to his bedroom door, glad for the distraction. "Yes?" he called down once he had opened it.

"I was just wondering if you could get the wrapped present that's on my bed!"

Considering whether he should indulge her or not, he decided he should get rid of the spirit in the mirror first. "I... Well, I can't! I'm dripping shaving cream everywhere!"

"Okay, forget it – I'll get it myself!"

"'Kay!"

Turning back into the room, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. Now, how would he get rid of the spirit? Wasn't there something about smashing the mirror? Brightening up with this thought, he hurried to the wardrobe and the drawer beneath it. In it were several of Alfred's prized possessions, including a baseball bat. He wasn't an avid fan, much preferring surfing to baseball, but he had had it signed by some famous player and had kept it ever since. Now, though, it was the perfect weapon.

Returning to Arthur, Matthew noted that his face was still the only one present in the glass. He positioned himself in such a way that he would be able to get a good swing but kept the bat hidden as much as he could. Arthur seemed to notice something was odd.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyebrows drawn together. His hopeful, sad face was beginning to look angry and ugly. Matthew took a sense of accomplishment from that and grinned.

"I don't know what you did to Alfred but I know you did _something_. So, now, I'm going to stop you from getting your way." With that, he raised the bat and turned his head in case of flying glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Arthur's wide, green ones. Then he swung with all his might, the metallic grey of the bat blurring until it came into contact with the mirror. There was a loud cracking sound and Matthew watched as Arthur's surprised face was fractured.

A terrible, high-pitched, unearthly scream echoed around the small room and Matthew dropped the bat to cover his ears. Squinting at the spirit, he looked on as the glass shook before shattering completely, tiny bits of glass flying everywhere. The larger bits dropped and Matthew could still see hints of green and blonde stuck forever in the shards.

But that wasn't the end of it. A blast of wind knocked Matthew off his feet, landing sprawled against the opposite wall. When he managed to open his eyes, it was to see that the room had seemed to settle. The glass covered the floor but, apart from that, everything else was still and normal. Blinking, he scrambled to his feet.

Was that it? Was everything over? Matthew wondered if he could relax now. With a huge sigh, he left the bathroom, feeling exhausted.

He froze as soon as he entered the bedroom, staring at a new apparition in shock. For, standing with his back to the window, was Alfred. Shorter than Matthew by around a head, he still had that familiar golden hair and shining blue eyes. The familiar grin was on his face as his eyes lit up.

"Mattie!" he cried. "You did it!"

"I... did?" breathed Matthew before managing to raise his voice. "Alfred. Oh, my God! Al!"

The boy chuckled. "Yup. It's me. Well, what's left of me, anyway."

"What happened?" asked Matthew as he took a step towards his cousin.

"That Arthur dude... thing... whatever – he swapped places with me and took over my body."

"What?!"

"Yeah. Something about wanting to live in the real world or something." Alfred paused and Matthew came closer, still stunned at this development. His cousin turned sombre suddenly, nervously glancing around before returning his gaze to Matthew. "Hey. Do you think I'll be able to go to Heaven now?"

At that, Matthew could feel tears trying to escape. With a quiet sob, he closed the distance and threw his arms around Alfred, hugging him tight. It was surprising and magnificent to be able to feel him again, to hear him, see him. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Aw, Mattie," laughed Alfred. "Of course you'd see me again! I mean, I don't want to be on my own for all eternity."

Matthew's brow furrowed. What did that mean? He pulled back, holding Alfred at arm's length. Before he could do any more than open his mouth to speak, a sharp pain sliced its way into his chest. With a gasp, Matthew's hand shot up and he tried to curl up on himself. However, he found that he was held up by some unknown force. Looking down, his eyes widened at the sight.

Alfred's hand was inside his chest: all Matthew could see was Alfred's arm ending at the wrist right where the pain was.

"Wh-Wha-?" stuttered Matthew. Suddenly, he started coughing and he instinctively moved his hand to cover his mouth. When he drew it away, it was covered in blood and he could hazard a guess at what was dribbling down his chin.

Tilting his head, Alfred smiled warmly at Matthew. "Hey, hey now. Don't worry. I've found a way to stop being so lonely forever and ever and ever." His smile turned into a wide grin. "Don't run off when you get out and stay with me, okay? Can you promise me that?"

Staring at him in horror, Matthew backed away, his legs feeling as though they might give out. Alfred's hand was removed from his body, blood covering it and slowly dripping to the floor. Matthew shook his head. This was a nightmare, it had to be. Why would Alfred try to kill him? It couldn't be real.

But the pain was immense and seemed to be flooding through his body. It forced him to his knees. He looked back up at Alfred, trying to speak, but every time he opened his mouth, he would cough up more blood. The teenager stood over him, watching rather impassively, a small and expectant smile on his face.

"Come on, Mattie. Tell me you'll stay. Mattie. Come on. Mattie. Mattie. Mattie, Mattie, Mattie!" And Alfred began to sing his name over and over again, bouncing on the spot and clapping his hands together.

As Matthew's vision began to blur and darkness ate at the edges, the last thing he could clearly see was Alfred's grin...

* * *

It took too long for Mattie to die, in Alfred's opinion. He wanted to start having fun as soon as possible. They could prank his mom until they brought her to this plane of existence, too. But he could only watch as he waited, clenching the hand which had given the fatal blow and relaxing it again, over and over.

Finally, Mattie stopped breathing and, slowly, a faint substance rose from his body. It took on the vague shape of Mattie, complete with glasses, before tilting till it seemed to be standing, floating just above his body. For a few seconds, it gaped at Alfred, the fear clear in his eyes. Alfred found that fear funny and giggled.

"Yay! Now we can- Wait, what are you doing?" Alfred demanded as the spirit began to rise towards the ceiling. "I thought you promised to stay!" he shouted, angry now. How dare Mattie lie to him! "Don't you leave me here! I don't want to be here alone!" The panic with which Alfred took a step towards his cousin made the spirit stop for a second. Then it continued on as if there had been no interruption. Mattie disappeared through the ceiling and was soon gone from sight.

Enraged, Alfred turned to the bookcase and pulled the books from it, sending them flying everywhere. Then he used his spiritual energy to make everything shake, stomping his foot as he did so, loud thumping noises issuing from where his foot cracked the floorboards. The windows rattled and one of them eventually shattered which quickly brought Alfred back to himself. Everything ceased all at once.

Of course, it didn't matter if Mattie had moved on without his permission. After all, he could always find someone else. And, as if on cue, someone else made their presence known.

"Matthew? Are you all right?" called his mother.

Grinning, Alfred turned to the door. How could he have forgotten his mom? How silly. Stifling a giggle, he walked to the closed door – leaving a trail of blood – and passed through it. The rest of the blood on his hand was left as a smear on the wood as the room settled into silence, the shadows that did not belong there sniggering in amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a happy ending! For Alfred, anyway...
> 
> By the way, the priest said Arthur's a demon. Just to clarify, he really isn't. He's also very dead and will not be bothering anyone - which is more than can be said for Al, the other souls Arthur gathered and the Shadow People.

**Author's Note:**

> Just taking this straight from ff.net:
> 
> I looked up the stuff about helping ghosts move on. It was rather vague and I'm not really sure about it... Alfred shoulda just went straight to a priest and damn the consequences. Or bless them.
> 
> Mirrors are/were actually considered to be portals to the spirit world. You're supposed to move them around because, if you leave them in one place for too long... And the Shadow People are an actual thing, by the way. Here's an excerpt from a website I was looking at: Witnesses describe not only shadow people standing near to mirrors, but also within the mirror and entering or leaving them. Quite a few cases also reported other phenomena at the same time such as - cold spots, voices, noises and orbs. Odours - ranging from pleasant to vile - have also been described.
> 
> All I did with them was make them into monsters that like to devour trapped souls.
> 
> Arthur is just an evil spirit - he's never been human. He doesn't have a reason for doing what he's doing - he just enjoys tearing families apart before killing off the body of the person he's already killed. Then he watches their grief because no-one seems to remember to cover up mirrors any more... (Well, maybe someone does but I don't think people do it as much as they did in the Victorian times.)


End file.
